


No, You Really Haven't Lived Life Yet ...

by Devilc



Category: Friday Night Lights
Genre: Character of Color, Chromatic Character, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-15
Updated: 2010-01-15
Packaged: 2017-10-06 07:40:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,395
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/51283
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Devilc/pseuds/Devilc
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tim and Santiago reach a new understanding.</p>
            </blockquote>





	No, You Really Haven't Lived Life Yet ...

**Author's Note:**

> Set some point after Season 2 ends.
> 
> Thank you to my betas — Bone, Shelbecat, and Rachel.
> 
> _You feel buried, you feel bored_  
> No one takes u seriously when ur 24  
> So shut off ur days  
> And turn on ur nights  
> 'cause the chance is for the taking  
> And the taking's right  
> ~"No Regrets" by the Von Bondies~

It began like a lot of other things in Tim Riggins' life -- on a warm, beer soaked spring night out at the lake.

Fullback vs. linebacker.

"Old pro" vs. the guy he'd trained to muscle guys like him into the ground.

(White trash vs. Cholo)

The quiet guy with dimples and hard luck story vs. the other quiet guy with dimples and a hard luck story.

(The hottie who'd had all the girls vs. the hottie that none of them could seem to snare.)

~oo(0)oo~

Santiago foot-dragged all the way into it, but when Bradley suggested -- suggested, mind you, not _said_ \-- that Santiago was afraid of Tim (who had bowled over and stiff-armed some of the most notorious linebackers in the state, especially that epic hit on Junior Silvario) he shot to his feet and said, "I ain't afraid of no whitey."

(But the fierceness of his tone didn't quite reach his eyes.)

"Prove it." Tim smirked as he downed the last of his beer, belched, and climbed a little clumsily -- clumsily, that's all -- to his feet.

Santiago hawked and spat. "Don't see a point in taking on a guy who can hardly stand up."

Tim snapped into action, feet dig-dig-digging as he drove the startled Santiago down the dock and towards the water's edge.

The advantage of catching Santiago off guard lasted all of a second or two, because as soon as he got his feet centered under him, _it was on,_ because Santiago matched Tim in height and upper body strength and actually ran the 40 faster than him. Hell, Coach would have made Santiago into a running back -- the next Smash -- except that Santiago had butterfingers when it came to handling the ball.

(And Santiago had only had two beers so far, putting him four behind Tim.)

~oo(0)oo~

Tim _was_ going to drive Santiago off the end of the dock.

Really.

But his foot slipped and, well, at least his iron grip on Santiago's shirt meant that the both of them crashed to the wet plywood, rolling and tumbling as they tried to stand up and push the other guy into the lake at the same time.

Tim noticed that Santiago was _hard_ about the time they both went over the side and splashed into the shockingly cold water.

Coming up, Tim managed to shoot up out of the water right underneath one of the cross braces of the dock and ended up with a knot on his head the size of, well, Texas, for his troubles. Santiago winced in sympathy and wordlessly helped haul Tim out of the water and passed him a cold beer, which Tim gratefully pressed to the lump which throbbed in time with the beat of his heart, and then drank down a few minutes later. It was too dark for him to get a good read on the look in Santiago's eyes, though, and Tim said nothing, did nothing, as Santiago squished away and sat under a cottonwood, glaring at almost everybody who came over.

~oo(0)oo~

Landry and Tyra came to his rescue, because despite all the drinking he did to take the edge off, Tim's head still throbbed and and he felt like shit and there was no way he could drive. So Landry poured him in the passenger seat, stopping twice to let him puke, while Tyra followed in Landry's father's truck.

Billy, of course, laughed his damn ass off when they got him through the door. It didn't help that Tyra had so damn much fun explaining what had happened, either.

~oo(0)oo~

Santiago avoided him at school all the next week.

Not that it was too hard, because their schedules didn't have a lot of classes in common, but enough that Tim noticed.

Which meant that he totally abused his position as Coach's gopher to just _always_ be there when Santiago came into the weight room to do some off-season stay-in-shape lifting.

Tim played it cool, pretended to act as if nothing had changed.

As if he didn't _know_.

As if Santiago didn't have a rabbit in the headlights look whenever Tim shucked his shirt and said things like, "Hey man, spot me." Or when he offered to hit those aching shoulders with a little Heet/Tiger Balm/Ben-Gay.

He backed off only when Santiago started to get so jittery that Coach asked him if something was wrong.

Wash. Rinse. Repeat.

Tim could wait for the right moment.

Some people just wouldn't take what they wanted until you made them.

No regrets, right?

~oo(o)oo~

Dripping wet and wearing only a towel after rinsing off in the showers, Tim finally made his move, catching Santiago about to exit a bathroom stall in the lockers late one evening, and push, push, pushing right on in, kind of like that time at the dock, only Santiago backpedaled instead of digging in.

Eyes looking anywhere but at him, Santiago tried to speak but only sputtered.

"Hey man, it's cool," Tim said softly, reaching out to touch him.

Santiago flinched away. "No it's not," he replied in a voice so full of misery that it made Tim pause.

Tim reached back and flicked the latch on the door as he leaned in, whispering, "It's okay 'Iago." And then, striking before Santiago could react, he gave him a quick kiss on the lips. "No regrets," Tim said in his softest whisper, as Santiago's hand floated up, touching his lips almost disbelievingly. As if he couldn't quite believe that Tim had just laid a hit and run kiss on him.

"I got a lot of regrets," Santiago whispered back, low and throaty, but he gave a breathy, hitching sigh when Tim darted in for another kiss and traced his finger across Santiago's collar bones.

"It's all good," Tim said. Because, why shouldn't it be? It was _sex_, and sex was supposed to be the best good, right?

Santiago jerked back once again, brown eyes dark and closed off as he studied Tim for a long moment before he whispered, "Okay."

And this time he kissed Tim, leaning in, cupping his hand around the back of Tim's head, tangling his hand in Tim's hair, and Tim couldn't quite hold back his own gasp.

(The best good, indeed.)

~oo(0)oo~

They both knew they didn't have much time, and the risk made it even hotter in Tim's opinion. Within moments, Santiago pulled Tim's towel off and dropped it around his ankles, and Tim had Santiago's fly unzipped. Santiago's gasp as Tim wrapped his hand around that hard hot length -- seeping at the tip -- and gave that first stroke told Tim everything he needed to know. His own hips jerked in response to Santiago's hand on him. Clenching his teeth as the first corkscrews raced up his spine, Tim breathlessly urged Santiago on.

"Jesus, man, " Santiago gasped, "since when do you --"

"Not now," Tim hissed with a slight shake of his head and then started jerking as hard and fast as he could, praying that Santiago would return the favor.

~oo(0)oo~

Santiago came about a second after Tim did, and he sported an ear to ear grin as he took the toilet paper and wiped the both of them clean before flushing it down the toilet. Tim sagged against the wall and forced his knees to keep holding him up.

(_Because, God, that was good. Better than he'd expected, actually._)

Santiago spoke again, his smile almost shy, "So, um, how long have you ... when did you --"

"It's all good, Iago," Tim said, a bit too quickly. "It's just sex. Y'know? I don't get why everybody's so uptight about it. We both wanted to, so why not? It's no big deal."

The look in Santiago's eyes grew cold and glassy. He abruptly zipped up and pushed past Tim.

"Iago," Tim murmured plaintively, reaching out and squeezing his shoulder.

Santiago paused and then hissed over his shoulder, "It's just so damn easy for you, isn't it? But, maybe it's not so easy for everybody else, you ever think of that?" before he stormed out of the bathroom.

_Well, shit,_ Tim thought as he sank down to the toilet and put his head in his hands.

He just wanted to have a little fun, so why did he always end up with regrets?

**Author's Note:**

> Continues in [...If You Ain't Got No Regrets](http://archiveofourown.org/works/51286)


End file.
